THE BIG SYCAMORE. 113 



to a break in the hills and our nostrils were 

 greeted by the cool salt breeze coming from the 

 Pacific, suddenly the whole horizon broadened ; 

 the inclosing valley walls were overlooked ; we 

 were galloping under the high arching heavens 

 in a wind blowing from far over the wide ocean. 



Here stood the great sycamore, with branches 

 swaying ; for the tree faced this break in the hills. 

 It seemed as if the old monarch, with roots firmly 

 planted, had battled for its ground ; and now, 

 as a conqueror, stood with arms uplifted to meet 

 the ocean gales. I had never before appreciated 

 the dignity of those straight upreared shafts, the 

 vital strength of those deep grappling roots, the 

 mighty grandeur of this old battle king. 



When one of the trunks fell, I had to hunt the 

 sycamore over to find where it came from, not 

 missing it in the massive framework that was 

 left. The giant measured twenty-three feet and 

 a half in circumference, three feet from the 

 ground. Its enormous branches stretched out 

 horizontally so far that, between the body of the 

 tree and the tips that hung to the earth, there 

 was a wide corridor where one could promenade 

 on horseback. In fact, the tree spanned, from 

 the tip of one branch to the tip of the other, one 

 hundred and fifty-eight feet. In the photograph, 

 the figure of a person is almost lost in the com- 

 plicated network of the frame of the tree. The 

 treetop was a grove in itself. A flock of black- 



